A Few Days
by modernxxmyth
Summary: After the trial and Sara gets out of jail, Sara struggles with herself, while Michael just can't stay away. Post 2x21. MiSa. One shot.


**A/N: **And I'm back! With another PB fic. It is mostly Sara-centered and very, very MiSa. One-shot.

**Spoilers:** Up until 2x21.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Prison Break. While this is heartbreaking, we simply have to move on and get by, day by day.

**A Few Days**

"_Not guilty…"_

It was a miracle, in Sara's opinion. Not guilty? Oh, she was guilty. Sara Tancredi was a very, very guilty person. But she'd miraculously been found innocent on all but one account – stealing drugs from Fox River's infirmary – with the help Paul Kellerman, the spy…the man who'd tried to kill her. The man she's tried to kill. It was definitely considered a miracle in Sara's part that she'd only seen the inside of a jail cell for 2 days total as her sentence – theft. Of all the things for Sara to be charged for, after all the things she'd done – she got charged with theft. When the verdict had been announced, she had to bite her lip to contain her laughter at the irony. The sentence – the verdict – everything was fine. She was fine. It was nothing.

But I reality, Sara was numb. She couldn't make herself care about the verdict. She couldn't make herself care about much of anything.

She missed him.

Once Sara had been released from jail, she'd started jonesing. And boy, did she jones hard. She'd never wanted a hit more in her life. And while she knew she shouldn't do it, while she knew she'd promised herself she'd never use again, she felt herself slipping.

So after much internal conflict and debate, she acted on the impulse. She still had a stash from before – from the days of her addiction – that she'd kept, but never tapped into. Sara supposed she was setting herself up for a failure just like this, keeping the drugs, but at that moment she couldn't quite care. She wanted a fix, and she wanted it that instant. She entered the combination on her safe.

Morphine. Syringe. Tourniquet. Injection. _Ecstasy.

* * *

_

For Michael Scofield, his life started again with a news paper clipping.

"_Sara Tancredi was released yesterday evening from Chicago County Jail, after two nights in jail, and being cleared of all charges besides the initial drug arrest. Miss Tancredi was involved in the escape of the Fox River convicts…"_

The article went on, but Michael didn't.

Michael's eyes went wide. Lincoln shook his head slowly, knowing exactly what was going on in his brother's mind. "You can't go, man. It's too dangerous, Mike. You can't risk all you've worked for…"

Michael looked Lincoln in the eye, a hard look in his eyes. "I have to."

* * *

It was two weeks later that Michael saw Sara again. He arrived at her apartment door, a cap on his head, trying to be discreet, and knocked loudly.

No response.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

Michael pushed the door open himself, as it was unlocked. The sight that greeted him inside the apartment shocked and saddened him to his very core.

Sara was sitting on her living room floor, syringe and vial lying next to her, obviously, bottle half empty, and syringe with a clear residue. Sara was staring at Michael was a glazed-over expression.

"What are youuuuu doing here?" her words came out slurred, and she giggled – a high-pitched laughter he'd never heard from her before.

She was high.

She was _very_ high.

"Sara, what the hell did you do to yourself?" Michael's words were angry, but his tone was soft…sad. "What are you using?" he asked quietly, sitting down next to her.

"Morrrrrrrrphine. I still got some from the good old days!"

Michael ran a hand over his face, exhausted. "Why did you start using again, Sara?"

"Why not?" she asked lazily. Michael noticed her eyes looked sad. "I wasn't expecting to see you again!" she sighed with apparent exasperation. She continued, "I missssssed you."

"How long?" he whispered.

"Only like two weeks!" Sara added hand gestures to express her point, as drug-induced haze affected her. I may have been strong when I left you in safety – _which, by the way, you should still be located at, mister_ – hmm. I may have been strong then, for those fleeting moments of clarity. To save you. Like you saved me. You saved me like, a bunch of times, you know. Seriously. That riot was craaaaaazy. But…anyway...once you were gone, and I was on my own again, I became weak. Again. I was weak. Weak, weak, weak, weak, weak. I don't like that word. I really, really don't. Do you like it?" she didn't pause for a response. "I'm weak. I hate myself. Lots. Oh well. Weak." She shrugged exaggeratedly and nearly fell over.

Michael sighed and shook his head sadly, not knowing how to respond. Then again, he mused, his response didn't seem to be the biggest of Sara's worries at the moment, as he watched her examine her own fingernails closely. She made a face and dropped her hand.

"I'm tired," she commented.

"Why don't you go to bed?" He helped her into the bedroom and slept on the couch, himself, not wanting to intrude on her personal space.

* * *

Sara awoke the next morning with a raging headache and a violently upset stomach. Sara dashed from her bed, her aching muscles protesting, and threw up into the toilet. She finished after several agonizing minutes and groaned loudly. She stood up and splashed some water on her face. There was a knock on the bathroom door. Confusion instantly crossed her face. _'What…who…"_

Michael's voice was in the air. "Sara, are you okay?" He opened the door to reveal Sara's gaping face.

"What the…" Sara spoke, "How…when…_oh_…" Memories of the night before began to flood her mind. Michael walking through her door, finding her high. Her drug-induced confessions. The look on Michael's face. She slid town the side of the wall to a sit, placing her head in her hands. _"Fuck."_

Michael sighed and sat down next to her. Sara couldn't bear to look at him. Couldn't bear to see his face. The disappointed that she knew would be etched into his features. "I-I-" she tried to speak, "I'm sorry," she said breathlessly.

He covered his hand on hers. There were no words.

There was a silence. All Sara could say was, "Withdrawal's gonna be a bitch."

Michael laughed uncomfortably and squeezed her hand.

Sara finally chanced a look at him and laid her head on his shoulder. There was a long silence until finally she asked, "So exactly why aren't you in Panama right now?"

"Once I heard you'd been released, I couldn't just stay away. I had to see you. I had to _get_ you, that is, if you'd still like to come?" It was more of a question than a statement.

A brief smile crossed Sara's lips. "How long do we have?"

Michael grinned. "We've got a few days."

With that, he covered her mouth with his.

Fin.

* * *

**Reviews are very, very, very much appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!**


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